


a mouth so sharp and cruel is all that i can give to you (my dear)

by torrid



Category: Among Us (Video Game)
Genre: (more or less), Anal Sex, Cunnilingus, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Other, Overstimulation, Possession, Tentacles, Trans Male Character, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:00:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26773306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/torrid/pseuds/torrid
Summary: After a string of disappearances, he finds his crewmate covered in blood, and surely they need help...
Relationships: Crewmate/Impostor (Among Us)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 369





	a mouth so sharp and cruel is all that i can give to you (my dear)

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Tongues & Teeth by The Crane Wives, which felt appropriate.
> 
> Uses cunt/cock for transmasc genitalia. Potential misgendering in that both “they” and “it” are used for the Imposter, but I’m going to go ahead and say that they (exist for horny reasons only) do not care.

This wasn’t how his day was supposed to go. This wasn’t how anything was supposed to go.

He looks at the head between his thighs and shudders as their – its – tongue flicks over his cock. It’s probably a head between his thighs, anyway. It’s the right size and shape and still occupies the helmet of a suit. But now that the visor is gone it’s apparent that it has far too many teeth, and far, far too many – _ah_ – tongues, one of which is now pushing against the entrance to his cunt. It’s probably a tongue, anyway. But it could be a tentacle. He isn’t a biologist, he doesn’t know the proper terminology, and—

And then it _moves_ and all thoughts are gone, wiped away by sheer sensation as it slides against him.

He’d always gotten along well enough with his crewmates. He’s never been especially talkative, and the others had respected that and left him in peace. For that he’d been grateful. But he’d always felt like he’d had a rapport with Blue. They, too, spoke little, but the silences felt companionable, and there was always a small smile tugging at his lips when he saw them while out doing his routine tasks.

Until the disappearances started, of course.

With each crewmate that vanished, the higher paranoia ran. No longer was anyone to be trusted. And when the first corpse was found, bloody and to all appearances half eaten, things only got worse.

But still he’d trusted Blue.

He tries to shift against Blue’s hold on him, but they’re – _it’s_ – stronger than its frame appears. And the – tongues, he supposes he must call them tongues, for want of any other words – wrapped around his thighs are covered in sharp barbs. They’re slick with viscous fluid and they dig into him, holding him in place, sharp enough to break skin. Blood drips down from each small wound, streams of red dashed across his skin. They’re near enough to major arteries that he fears moving too much will get him killed.

Not that he doesn’t expect to be killed soon enough as it is.

Blue had always seemed so _trustworthy._ Even as he lost faith in his other crewmates, there was something about Blue that – well. Perhaps he had a bit of a crush. He can admit that now. It seems silly not to with their tongues now so intimately upon him.

He’d trusted them still when he found them leaning against a wall, covered in long streaks of blood. He’d _worried_ about them, rushed over to ask what was wrong. Been terrified for their life right up until they’d turned their face to him. What should have been their face. What was, instead, a horrifying maw of jagged teeth where a face should be.

He trusted Blue. _He trusted Blue._

He should have run. Running would have been smart. He’s _supposed_ to be smart, has the degrees to show for it. And perhaps he’d have managed to save some of the remaining crew – save _himself_ – if he’d run. But no. He’d stood there, frozen, like a fool.

And then Blue had grabbed him.

Blue pushed him against the wall as he bit back a whimper. Perhaps he’d dreamed of this. Of something like this, at least. This was closer to Blue than he’d ever been, their chests pressed up against each other, Blue’s hands pinning his arms to the wall. Of course, in his dreams Blue had had a face, not this quivering mass of tongues and teeth. And yet that dreamlike quality remained, the unreality of fantasy made horrible reality.

Blue had pressed a hand between his thighs, grinding it hard against him. And. Well. The sound that had come out of his throat bore a distinct resemblance to a moan. It had taken only moments for Blue to lay him on the ground, to shred his suit open with far too many needle sharp teeth, leaving small scratches on his skin, precise points of pain welling with blood.

There are hands holding his thighs open, or at least he assumes they’re hands, though even that is no longer certain. He lies here, open to Blue’s touch, all will to resist lost. He thinks he should try harder to stop this…this _creature_ from having its way with him, and yet he makes no attempt to push it away. Even as tentacles sprout from the recesses of Blue’s suit to wrap around his arms and hold them down, he does nothing to stop it. There’s something inevitable about it, something irresistible. And, perhaps worst of all, he can’t deny his curiosity, and, yes, desire.

Blue’s tongue moves against his cock, rough motion to sensitive flesh. Each stroke winds up tensions within him as it laps over him again and again. He squirms, desperate for _something,_ pushing up against Blue in hopes of finding it.

The strokes continue, inexorable, Blue’s tongue swirling around his cock in perfect horrible movements. Even as he tries to catalog each of Blue’s tongues, or tentacles, or whatever they are, to count the things that surround him, more seem to emerge, wrapping around his thighs, his abdomen, stretching up his chest. And with each press against his cock, he loses track entirely, focus on anything but the building thrum of arousal impossible.

More of the tendrils lie on his stomach, warm and wet along his skin. They, too, have sharp spikes along their lengths, digging in just enough to hint at pain, barely breaking skin. They pulsate against him, almost comfortable yet pushing just beyond that threshold. His eyes are drawn to where his blood pools around one of them before trickling down his side, bright red on naked skin.

A tongue circles around his cunt, and his attention is pulled back as he thrusts against it. He wants it _in_ him. He’s aching and empty and needs _more_. But it continues to tease, pulling back from where he wants it, trailing down past his cunt.

And still the tongue on his cock is relentless, now settled into a rhythm that pushes him ever nearer to the edge. With each lap his body grows tighter, and he feels as if he’s about to burst from his skin. His breath comes in fast hard pants, the inside of his helmet humid with exhalations. He’s vibrating with how close he is, his toes curled, hands clenched into fists, so close, so close, and the fact that it’s this monstrous creature that Blue has become is immaterial in the face of the onslaught of pleasure.

Then the wave crests – breaks – and he’s shuddering, body clenching as he finally, _finally,_ reaches his release. And then a tongue thrusts into his cunt. He jerks at the shock of it, a sudden stretch that he clenches around as he’s filled. It’s too late; it’s too soon. His body is too muddled with sensation to process what he wants. He thinks he wants Blue to let go. He knows he couldn’t bear it if they did.

Still Blue does not relent, the tongue against his cock continuing without cease, coaxing him higher. The tongue within him pulls back out, and he moans at the loss, at the yawning emptiness inside him even as the other remains at his cock. The tip once again teases at his entrance, so close yet so astronomically far from where he wants it. Then it plunges back in, filling him, and it’s still too much, too exactly right. It feels larger than before, stretching him further, pushing him just beyond the edge of comfort. He squirms, trying to adjust, but the other tendrils remain firm and sharp around his thighs, holding him wide open and preventing any shifts in position.

Again it repeats the movement, pulling out only to dive back in, burying itself within him in time to the strokes against his cock. It sets up a rhythm, in and out, up and down, over and over and over. He shivers, his body once again drawing tight, and he doesn’t know if the last orgasm ever truly ended under this ceaseless barrage and where the new begins. He can’t even say if this is pleasure anymore. He exists as nothing but raw sensation, his being narrowed to tongues and teeth and motion, heat and aching pressure and one shudder after another.

Then another of the tongues slides down. It probes at his ass, a gentle exploratory touch that is nevertheless firm and uncompromising. Then it pushes in. He clenches down around this intrusion, but it keeps going; there’s no stopping it. He almost sighs in relief as it slides out again, but immediately it’s back, pushing insistently into him again. It adds these thrusts in counterpoint to the others. He’s filled to the brink, beyond capacity, and the swipes against his cock only aggravate his nerves further.

This is all too much for him. Every muscle he has tenses, and his entire body tries to fold in on itself, shaking uncontrollably in agonized release. But there’s no escape from the thrusts, and he has no choice but to continue enduring. He feels as if he’ll fall apart. He feels as if he’s _already_ fallen apart. There is no coherency left to him, no _him_ left at all.

It’s horrible. It hurts. It’s the best orgasm he’s had in his life.

He doesn’t know how much longer it is before Blue is finished with him. He feels sore and raw, used to his limits and beyond. He is nothing but a puddle on the ground as Blue extricates itself. He blinks his eyes open wearily to watch. Its suit has split open, and tentacles spill out, the entire mass near incomprehensible to his tired eyes. He follows the length of one tentacle only to be caught by another, long and undulating above him.

Blue slides up his body, tendrils brushing against his skin, until its head – or whatever the approximation of its head is – hovers above his. Tentacles wrap around him, engulfing him in their embrace. They hold him in place, solid bands around his limbs that prevent any movement. As if he has the energy for that. Even thoughts of movement are nearly beyond him, his body overcome with lassitude and wanting nothing but rest. Blue can do whatever it wants with him; it’s taken him, consumed him, pulled him to tiny pieces, and now there is nothing else left of him.

Tentacles snake up his chest, working into his helmet and pushing it off. The cool air is a relief against his flushed face, but that relief is short-lived as a tentacle starts prodding at his lips. He opens them to let it in. There hardly seems any point in doing otherwise. It surges in, filling his mouth in moments. His jaw is stretched wide, wider than is comfortable, as it presses in. It’s coated in something slick, and the taste is alien, like nothing he’s ever experienced.

Even as his mouth is occupied, a tentacle is pushing back into his cunt, and another into his ass. He whimpers around the one in his mouth. Surely no more. He can’t take any more.

But Blue has other ideas.

The tentacles stroke in and out of him, leisurely, mouth and cunt and ass all filled with unrelenting strokes. This is too much after all he’s already been through. But there is no escape, even had he the strength for struggle. He can do nothing but clench helplessly as it wrings dregs of sensation from him that he hadn’t even known he had.

Then it stops.

But before he can so much as moan in relief, they begin pulsing. He can feel the flutter of it against his lips and tongue, can feel it within him. Can feel as something, viscous and slick, starts coming from them, filling his mouth. The taste is not unpleasant, but is as alien as the rest of it, indescribable and strange. He chokes, tries desperately to swallow around the still pumping tentacle. It drips from the corners of his mouth as it leaks out, running in rivulets down his face.

Finally, finally, it pulls away. It’s excruciatingly slow, each tendril pausing as if to leave one last caress. He feels liquid dripping out as each tentacle is removed from within him, as full with it as his mouth is.

And as Blue stands, it leans over and presses its mouth to his cheek, swift and soft and barely there before it’s gone again. A…kiss? The tenderness is sudden, shocking in ways he understands less than everything that came before.

Blue spends no more time on him after that. It stands, seals it suit and helmet back up, and once again becomes just one more crewmate. One without any secrets, one as baffled by all the problems plaguing the station as any other. Certainly not one hiding a forest of tentacles and sharp teeth to ravish its crewmates with. And with that it walks away, its footsteps slowly fading to nothingness.

He’s far too tired and sore to move. He wants nothing more than to lie here for hours, uncaring if the station around them goes to ruin, regardless of the state he’s in. Perhaps he will. Perhaps he will sleep here until someone else comes upon him, uncaring if they see him like this, torn open and used and abandoned.

But something is stopping him. His eyelids refuse to cooperate, staying open in direct defiance of his exhaustion. He tries to move his arm to wipe his face clean, but he can’t. It stays stubbornly still at his side, frozen in place by something more than fatigue.

He _can’t move._

And then he does, and it’s even worse. For the movements are not ones he controls. His body stands, but not of his own volition. It just _stands,_ regardless of his input. His legs feel shaky and weak, yet they stride forward as if nothing is wrong, walking confidently to his quarters to change into a new intact suit.

This must be Blue’s doing. He doesn’t know how or why or what it has planned for him, but somehow it has done this to him. Claimed him. Possessed him.

He is Blue’s. In more ways than he ever thought possible, he belongs to it, and there is no escape.


End file.
